Drew rose far earlier that next morning than he usually did. Most werewolves slept for half a day after Full Moon, but he was always unnaturally energetic. But he wasn't totally immune to exhaustion; he always crashed the day after the day after Full Moon. Too restless to stay in his room, and know it was too early to head to the dining hall, Drew found himself outside. There was a thick mist in the air that morning, the nippy air warning of the approach of fall.

To his surprise, the courtyard wasn't empty. Despite the sun not having made an appearance, Prince Duncan was working through what Drew had always called a sword dance. It wad an ancient Saevian tradition; a way to warm up and practice your footing and grip. Every swordsman had a different pattern, one they taught themselves. It could be done at any speed, but when it was sped up it was clear why it was sometimes called 'dancing'.

Duncan was going at that pace, his sword a blur and utterly unaware of the surrounding world. Drew watched with a critical eye, cataloging his movements and tells. Thin slivers of sunlight began to creep through the air, and a faint glint of metal caught Drew's eye. Half a second later he was running.

It was lucky that Duncan paused in his sword dance as Drew barreled at him, otherwise Drew would've been even shorter. Before Duncan had an clue what was going on, Drew slammed into him- a second before a crossbow bolt whizzed through the air.

When Duncan, cried out, Drew feared the worse. But when he rolled off of him, he found the bolt only embedded in his shoulder.

"Get him," Duncan hissed through gritted teeth. Drew didn't need to be told twice.

He took off with a jolt, a barely containing howl in his throat. A hunt was a hunt, no matter what was caught at the end. The would-be assassin wove through the streets with the knowledge of a native and the speed of something inhuman. But there were very few things that could outrun Drew, and this man wasn't one of them.

The assassin vaulted off a cart and swung up to the rooftops. Drew followed at his heels, gaining every second. The moment the man looked back was the moment he sentenced himself to death. He slowed, stumbled, and began to fall.

Drew had him by the collar before he could. For a moment they hung there, the assassin suspended in the cool morning air, his eyes filled with pleading. Drew's plan had been to catch him and bring him back for questioning. He would have, except for one thing- he recognized him.

In the short time between when he woke up after making the blood oath with Roksov and leaving the caves, he had seen a handful of other people. This middle aged werewolf being one of them.

"Please," he whispered in Wolvish. "Let me go. You know me. I can get out of the city unseen. They'll believe you if you say you got away." An alarm bell began ringing in the distance, smaller bells all across the city picking up the frantic cry.

"You'll never get out. Not now that the alarm is up."

"No! I can!" Cold resolve filled Drew and he fought off a sick feeling. This shouldn't be hard for me, I've done it a thousand times. He pulled the werewolf back onto the building, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"I'm sorry."

"What did you s-" Drew snapped his neck. In the second before his eyes went dull, the werewolf looked at with confusion- and hurt. Then he went limp. Why did death feel worse this time?

Drew dragged him to the edge of the building and dropped him off the edge. "He tripped while running across the roof." That's what he would tell everyone. It was quite likely. The roof tiles were slightly slick from the fog, anyone would've fell.

He jumped to the ground, landing lightly on his feet. In the distance, he could here the clatter of guards racing through the streets.

"Over here!" he yelled. "I've caught him! Over here!" The commotion changed directions, drawing nearer, and Drew pushed away his sudden sadness to wear a mask of frustration at loosing an opportunity to interrogate the assassin. That was easy; anger. The emotion was always bubbling under the surface, and directing it at something other than the real cause was old hat.

The guards came around the corner, and Drew had his story well prepared.

Amber's anxiety was bubbling up, pressing against the walls and swelling towards the ceiling. There was an attempt on Duncan's life. He's fine. Those were the only words used to explain the situation. She'd been shut in her room under lock, key, and guard for half the day. Cimmorene had been let out twice to retrieve food, and that had to be tasted for poison before Amber was allowed to eat.

When the door at last opened, Amber would've been overjoyed to even see a servant and maybe, possibly get an explanation. But it was better than she'd ever hoped: her brother stepped through the door.

"Duncan!" she sprung to her feet and rushed to him, noticing the bandages on his shoulder just before she was about to hug him. "What happened?" She took a step back. "Are you alright? No one has told me anything!"

"Let me sit down first," Duncan grimaced, limping towards the settee. Cimmorene dashed to his side as well and between the two of them, they were able to help Duncan seat himself with minimal cursing. Amber sat across from him and Cimmorene curled up against his uninjured side.

"Well?" Amber asked, nerves too on edge to wait any longer.

"It turns out Hawthorne can be much more useful than I ever expected."

"What do you mean?"

"He saved my life. I had no idea the assassin was there. Hawthorne shoved me out of the way of the crossbow bolt. Well, mostly out of the way."

"You're moving awfully slow for a single bolt wound," Cimmorene said, casting a critical eye over him.

"Hawthorne went for speed and not gentleness when it came to knocking me out of the way," Duncan said with a humorless smile. "He cracked a few of my ribs and dislocated an elbow."

"Damn," Cimmorene muttered. "I can't ever do that. What type of werewolf is he?" She started absentmindedly playing with Duncan's hair. He cast an amused look Amber's way and she just rolled her eyes. For a long time, they'd read into everything Cimmorene did before finally resigned themselves to the fact that was just how she behaved.

"What happened to the assassin?" Amber asked. She cast a worried eye towards the balcony, her irrational hind-brain convinced that someone was waiting there for her; and not the person she wanted to see.

"Hawthorne chased after him. The assassin was running along a roof when he slipped on the wet tiles and fell. His neck broke on impact."

"So we have no idea who sent him," Amber said, more to herself than to Duncan.

"It could be any number of people.... I've lost track of how many open death threats I've received. I'm sure the unspoken ones are countless." They sat in silence for a moment, Cimmorene fidgeting mercilessly.

"That's it!" she cried, springing to her feet. "I can't do this. You two have fun with your politics, I'm going to go get tea for us." She whisked out the door, frowning and muttering in Wolvish.

Duncan watched long after she left. "Why didn't I ask for a werewolf when I was younger?"

"I haven't the slightest clue; but Cimmorene's mine. Maybe you should talk to Hawthorne more." Duncan scowled at her for a moment, but couldn't keep a straight face for long.

"Are you go-" he stopped mid-word, alarm in his eyes. "I hear Shalece." He rose abruptly, wincing at the movement and hurried towards the door to Cimmorene's room. "Don't you dare tell her where I am." He shut the door seconds before his wife burst into the room.

"Where is he?" she cried, her voice painfully shrill. "No one will tell me what's going on!" Wherever Shalece went, she brought a storm of drama with her. It came in the form of gossip or wild emotions; this time it was hysteria. Tears was running down her pretty face, and any man that wasn't Duncan would've been crushed inside to know they were causing such anguish.

Amber stood and caught Shalece by the hand, guiding her to a chair.

"He isn't here right now, dear. He only has a few minor injuries."

"Don't you patronize me!" Red flushed Shalece's face as she revealed her heredity temper. Royal minotaurs were always so entitled and touchy, even if they were only a half-breed who looked completely human. "You- you- child."

Amber brushed aside the insult like the pathetic attempt it was. Shalece may have been pretty, but she was stupider than a mossy rock. How has she not accidentally drank acid by now? The combination made her the perfect queen for Duncan; one who wouldn't try and interfere and could entertain guests. He brought this misery upon himself.

"Why is it I'm always the last person to find out what's going on?" Shalece sniffled. "I'm Duncan's wife and future queen! And yet you are always in the place of favor," she snarled these last words, her face twisted with hatred.

"I'm sure it's not intentional," Amber replied, knowing full well it was. "You know, I think Duncan was heading to his office."

Shalece sprung to her feet at once. "He'd better be." She stormed out the in the same manner she arrived, the door slamming shut behind her. Only then did Duncan creep out of Cimmorene's room.

"Coward," Amber tossed at him, returning to her seat.

"I'll speak to her eventually, it just doesn't have to be right now. I hate hysterical women."

Amber scowled. "She was worried about you. Don't belittle her for that."

"Can I belittle her for everything else then?"

"Sometimes you're an absolute pig." Few things came between Amber and Duncan, but his treatment of his wife was one of them. "Yes, she's a shrew. She's overly dramatic, air-headed, and vainer than a peacock," Amber's anger drove her to her feet once more, and she stalked closer to Duncan as she spoke. "But somehow, despite how self-centered she is and despite what beast you are half the time, she loves you." Duncan almost flinched. He was not a man of grace or chivalry, and not a man of love. But he had enough emotion left to feel guilty sometimes. "And yet," Amber continued, to caught up in her momentum to pull and punches. "You treat her like some expensive whore who has to be placated now and then. And I won't even start on how you treat Camden, Miesha, and Aveala."

Duncan closed his eyes, beginning to speak, and then stopping.

He took a deep breath before saying, "You're supposed to be in council tomorrow. Father demands it." He brushed past her without another word. It would be awhile before he spoke to her again.

Amber's closed her heart off from the hurt that tried to stab it and turned away from the door. A faint noise on the balcony caught her attention and pulled her spirits put of the pit they'd fallen into. She brushed aside the curtains and opened the balcony doors.

"Hello Drew," she smiled and joined him at the balcony edge.

"You seem to be in an good mood." And he seemed to be in the opposite. For someone who had just saved the life of the Crown Prince, he was awfully somber.

"I am now." Did- did I really just say that? Drew gave her a sideways look, but didn't make anything of it. Out loud, at least. "Why so grim?" she asked softly. "Sorry my brother didn't die?" She got a faint smile from that, but it dissapeared too quickly.

"He was an old man."

"Who?"

"The assassin. You don't give a job like this to an old man unless they're experts or they really want it."

"And clearly he wasn't a expert."

"No. Why did he Duncan dead so badly? He knew he would be risking his life, he knew he would be a wanted man for the rest of his life. But he tried anyways."

"I wouldn't think about it too much."

Drew turned, and his eyes were a lighter green than they should be. "And why not? A man is dead, a death that I caused."

"I meant about why he wanted Duncan dead. There's a thousand and one reasons anyone could use as motive for murder. Don't bother trying to pick through." Drew looked at her for a long moment and she could practically hear the gears turning in his mind.

"You don't think Duncan's a good man, do you?"'

"Good.... Good is subjective."

"It is. But you know your own definition of good." Amber hugged herself, looking over the edge of the ramparts to the bits of city she could see beyond. Why was Drew always able to cut right to the eye of the hurricane? He knows nothing of subtlety.

"It's not as simple as 'good' or 'bad'," she murmured. "He's done awful things, but he's my brother. I know why he does so many of these things, and it's easy for me to explain them away. But he does hardly any good to balance out the harm he does. He's not a good man, but he's not an evil one either. He's just..."

"Lost."

"What do you mean?"

It was Drew's turn to turn away and look at something no one else could see. "There was this saying we had back at- back at home. Whenever someone started-" he broke off and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't really know how to say this. When someone started acting like- like Duncan, we'd say that they'd lost themselves."

"Lost themselves..."

"Yes. It was still them, but they'd lost part of what made them a good person. The piece of themselves that cared." At his words, Amber could practically see a river of memories of all the moments Duncan had lost a little bit more of himself, and a little bit more, and a little bit more.

"Those people, the ones who you saw lose themselves... Did they ever get that piece back?" He didn't answer. "Drew, please?" He met her gaze, and her heart sank at the look in his eyes.

"All the ones I saw... no. But they never lived very long, so I wouldn't judge too much from them." Amber nodded slowly, turning away. Surely Duncan would live long enough to turn back into the brother she loved. If he could outlive their father, there was hope. But someone wants Duncan dead. Duncan, not father. "I should probably go. I have a feeling Duncan will want the trainees to start progressing even faster now." He swung himself over the balcony railing, holding onto the ledge and leaning back. "I'll see you soon," he gave her a quick smile and began to work his way down.

"Wait!" A sudden impulse seized Amber, and she acted on it before her rational mind could convince her to do otherwise.

She leaned over the railing and kissed Drew.

When she pulled away, he wore an expression of almost comical shock; eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"Thank you for saving Duncan." Amber stepped back, fighting a grin. "I'll see you soon." Drew hung there for a moment, frozen, and she realize that his eyes had gone bright gold. He pulled himself up slightly, and for a moment she thought he was going to come back up and do... something.

But he lowered himself back down, blinking and giving her jerky nod. "Alright then," he choked out in a voice higher than normal. With that, he was gone. At least he didn't fall off when I kissed him. All of Amber's nerves hit her at once, and a giddy laugh burst from her lips. She sat down hard, leaning against the wall. I just kissed someone. I just kissed someone. Of all the ways she'd thought her first kiss would happen, this hadn't been anywhere on the list. The top had been the day of her no doubt political, arranged marriage to some beast, and the second had been her making a wild, rash, terrible decision.

"I've got tea!" Cimmorene's voice shocked Amber out of her stupor. She stood quickly, running her hands down her skirt to make to try and collect herself. As hard as she tried, she knew Cimmorene would notice something was off. She could only imagine what Cimmorene would say about this. 

---

YEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!! Even though I knew this was coming I'm still giddy!!!!! 

Also; DRAMADRAMADRAMADRAMADRAMA. What do you think about Duncan and the way he treats his wife? Does he have an excuse or no? Would you have preferred he was assassinated? If you're one of the anti-royal family readers, don't worry. The family will be shrinking soon. 

Merry Christmas my wonderful 1.0x10-5 percent! You make writing this worthwhile.